Legend of Zelda Farore's Favored Son
by LegendaryFlyingFailure001
Summary: Before Wind Waker...there was a Link...who failed to stop Ganon. RnR
1. Triforce

_Triforce. Never in the history of life's existence has any thing been so coveted, or so sought after as this. Three parts of a greater whole- Goddesses commanded the power to bring an end to everything. The numbers of those slain in the pursuit of this treasure among treasures rival even the stars in the sky. Despite all of this, only one man in history has ever laid hands on it. In a perfect world, this man would be worthy of the power contained within and would have used the Goddesses power for the betterment of all the people of Hyrule._

_But no more is the world perfect than were either good, or noble, the intentions of man who claimed the power of the Goddesses-Triforce. _

Fire coursed through the body of Farore's favored son. Green and red mixed on his legendary tunic and turned it an ugly shade of brown. A ringing echoed in his pointed ears. Then it rang throughout the entire hall. The ringing seemed a precursor to the pervading smell of blood that entirely consumed his senses. What little blood remained in him ran cold as though some magic had instantly frozen his every bodily fluid. The ringing died down as his vision began to fade. The pulsating power in Farore's legendary blade slowed, and then stopped as it lay still on the cold marble floor; the evidence of it's fall marked by the still audible faint ringing throughout the great hall. He felt the floor on the rough skin of his knees. The blurred dark figure in front of him seemed to grow as the ancient evil advanced upon him. Blinded, fire pierced him for a final time and blood flowed freely onto a great blade longer than he was. The taste of acid filled his mouth as he vomited blood onto the blade, forming a pool around Farore's fabled treasure that was intended to slay the evil that had instead taken the life of the very sword itself. Even the smell of blood will flee the smell of death, taking its leave of the scent the way hyenas step back when a lion approaches their kill. Farore's favored son did not feel the hard marble floor strike his head just above the right temple. He was already dead. Farore fled the body of her deceased in the knowledge that Din was held captive by the evil one already and Nayru no doubt soon to follow. A burning flame consumed the hero's body from the outside-black as the death on the inside. Cruel inhuman laughter echoed in the great hall, soon swallowed by a bellowing roar of victory. From a slight distance, Nayru watched in horror as Farore fled leaving her child at the mercy of the beast. Great tears fell like hammer strikes on the marble floor for her brethren who had loved her son, and for Din who struggled in vain against the monsters great power and finally for her own daughter who was soon to die. Nayru fled her daughter taking with her the daughters immortal spirit. Nayru's heart cried out as the beautiful youths golden hair fell across her face, which was already turning pale. A second howl. This one of fury beyond human reckoning not like anything seen ever in Hyrule echoed as the beast realized that final two pieces had yet eluded him again. Amidst the order of blood spreading peacefully around Farore's weapon, the chaos of the demon's fury, and the stench of death, Din struggled to free herself from the monster and be free with her siblings. But it was useless to fight the monsters great power. Safely away from the monster, Farore's great sadness turned to anger. Retribution would be had and the monster would be stopped by whatever necessary means. On behalf of the people of Hyrule, Nayru pleaded for days on end in an attempt to rest Farore's terrific fury. But in the end the decision was made because Nayru knew the scourge had to be stopped by whatever means. And so great was Farore's thirst for vengeance that it exceeded even her love for the world the three of them had created. Using Farore's wind and Nayru's life-giving water they flooded the entire planet in a desperate attempt to seal away the Devil himself.


	2. Justice

I've always been a Zelda fan. Ever since I first played _A Link to the Past _on GBA I've been sold on Zelda. Mythology has always interested me and there is certainly a mythology behind the Zelda series and that's what I really want this to be about. The idea behind this story is that before _Wind Waker_ happened there was a Link who tried to stop Ganon and failed. The _mythology _is what has intrigued me however so this story focuses around the idea that Link is not a name or a person but a _title._ This idea came more or less from the realization that there _is_ a chronology behind the Zelda games. (soon to be posted in the next chapter) Basically the whole story sort of followed from there. At any rate if you came back for more after chapter one I'll assume you want more so here's chapter two.

_Justice. It is nearly always perceived as a benevolent force of light- but this is false. In the great wars that wage in every universe between good and evil justice is seen nearly always on the side of good. This is not the case. Justice is neither benevolent nor malevolent; neither good, nor evil. Justice is neutral. It is the source of balance in an unbalanced world. Whomsoever the Goddess Farore may call on will always be called to act as a force of justice. But not always as a force of good. _

The messenger's broken body fell, lightly as though made of air, to the ground. Farore's chosen force of justice stood immobile- his fairy companion's final moment reflected in the fluid of his eye.

No tear. No tear could penetrate the malevolent rage that burned his body like the white fire of a dragon. Only bloodshed would serve to quench the fire of revenge. Only justice would satisfy him. The beast responsible stood proud over the infinitesimal glow that was to be the last hint of the messenger's guiding light.

Tiny specks of blood on one single talon, surely the one responsible for the tragedy, stood visible against the smoke-stained black skin.

The beast sees movement out of the corner of his eye.

Farore's favored son, in a blind rage, moves to end the life of his companion's murderer. Fire pierces the son. He feels only the fire. It consumes his mind; past, present, and future. There is fire. There has always been fire. There will only ever be nothing if not fire.

The sword that is meant to enact justice burns with a passion. It wants to kill this abomination of the Goddesses. But the hand that holds it stays motionless-paralyzed as death moves to close the last gap between mortality and fatality. There is a flash of movement and the beast chokes on his own flame; returned by the blade of justice.

Acrid smoke infests every breath of Farore's favored son. The legendary green tunic that is the symbol of his calling-his _purpose_ has been reduced to tattered remnants barely masking ordinary chain mail. With the left arm exposed, an intricately woven depiction of a creeping vine is revealed on the underside of the forearm. There are no flowers; only markings which bear close resemblance to hearts.

As the marking is reflected in the beast's eyes there is a change in the room. The beast experiences fear. It is fear not like any he has felt in half a century. The very aura of smoke that surrounds him seems to retreat as though hoping to guard its master.

The son stands. The fire that consumed him entirely has left no notable mark. Knowledge is what burns in him now. Knowledge and the desire to kill. Knowledge of the creature's weakness. Knowledge of his assurance of victory. He stands, tall, strong, immobile, prepared to strike not with force but with _knowledge_. He does not pass his chance. As fire pours like the ghostly wisps of death from the demon's mouth he strikes.

This fire cannot pierce the blade of justice. The beast coughs, and sputters on his own attack. Smoke billowing out of his mouth blinds him as though a black curtain were pulled down around him. The bloody talon that committed murder spurts a hot gash as it is severed.; the beast falls to the ground. He is crippled and powerless; effectively rendered incapable of terrorizing the people of his mountain ever again.

He can barely see the son approach.

Through the clouded veil of smoke the son is nothing more than a dark silhouette. He never feels the blow that separates the two halves of his brain. The bloodshed quenches the son's thirst for revenge. The blade that is not meant for good but for justice is, for the time being, satisfied.


	3. tragedy

_Tragedy. It is in fact nothing more than an emotion. It is at our weakest moment when we have no defense left against our loss that who we are is truly revealed. Thus, only as a result of tragedy can a legend become a reality once again. _

In the future he will be called Farore's favored son; the bearer of the crest of hearts. A destiny given to many yet so few will be bestowed on him. He will alter the futures of all of the free peoples.

All of this will come to pass in the future.

At present he knows only death.

Few are unfortunate in sufficient amounts to have experienced the acrid smell that infests his every breath. Burning flesh. No memory has the future son of how or why or even when this tragedy began to occur. The son knows only pain. His village, his people, everything he knows; in a matter of hours will be reduced to ash.

Incontestable tragedy, the like of which has not been witnessed in all of the ancient years of history and will not be matched until the end of lands has broken the future son's mind. He is broken beyond the reparative ability of any person's restoration. No consciousness. Callous, fire consumes anything it touches without mercy. It has taken the village Shaman. It has taken the man who herded goats. It has taken the old fortune-teller in her sleep. Charred remains of livestock litter the village. Among the inferno are even visible the scorched and broken vestiges of the village children.

Unhindered, the ravenous being moves to devour the future son. Fallen, the inner surface of his left forearm is exposed. Lines are appearing. The lines are connecting to form the image of a rose vine. While no roses appear on the vine there are three crimson hearts in their place. The crest has been given and received. The future son is now the son; the bearer of the crest of hearts. No longer within the fire's grasp, he is elsewhere. The crest of hearts is still weak and Farore will not have her son dead before his task is accomplished.

The nights destruction does nothing to stop the coming of dawn. Light is shed on the blackened earth and crumbled structures. Somewhere away from here Farore's son, the bearer of the crest of hearts, mourns the loss of his people and his life. Somewhere even farther there is an ancient force of good who weeps for the loss of all free people. The oldest of all hallowed bastions has been destroyed. The scouring of Kakariko village has finally come to pass. There no longer exists any source of refuge for the descendents of Hylia.


	4. The Crest of Hearts

Just a note to everyone who reads my story. Chapters have been added fairly regularly lately. This will change due to circumstances beyond my control-AKA Metroid Prime 3 Corruption is un-freakin believable. Let me hasten to add that this is not my fault. If Retro hadn't made the game so good then you guys would be getting the rest of the story sooner. But till then here's chapter 4. Enjoy and RnR.

_The crest of hearts. Perhaps the second most powerful icon in history it is rivaled only by the Triforce. There is no force of man, or magic which can overcome the protection of this mark. He who bears the crest is known as the son of Farore. The Goddess herself has touched him with her right hand. It is no mere icon. The crest is the living connection with the Goddess and she shall bear all harm done on the one linked with her. Because of this any person living who bears the crest of hearts is indestructible to whatever degree the connection can hold. As the Son follows in Farore's way, the link grows stronger until he is completely invulnerable. Only then can he face the might of Din's master. _

Dull steel. Kakarikan make. It flashes, but poorly like a dim fire. A group of pig-men ambush the Son. They are little better than beasts; possessing only the most basic of awareness they have crafted what weapons they can. Very few wield anything more complex or technologically advanced than a simple club, made with a large rock tied with tree bark to a thick stem.

There are nine of them.

Easily surrounding the Son whom they do not view as a threat, they are nonetheless hesitant to initiate an attack. His clothing is unfamiliar. The bright green confuses them. His weapon, while not aesthetically remarkable, is nonetheless finely crafted-keen but not sharp. It was customary for the people of Kakariko to fight with blunt swords, causing deep damage, not just severing flesh but breaking the bone _beneath _it. The pig-men are not aware of this. Their thinking is not complex enough for that. There is movement behind the Son. Struck from his blind side the Son stumbles. Animal grunting from the pig-men indicate their belief of victory over their prey. The group converges as a whole to finish the Son and claim his corpse as a meal. Blunt clubs and hammers as well as the occasional spear find their marks. The Son kneels. The battle is soon to be over.

A wide arc of dull steel splits the air around the Son. In unison the pig-men land, grievously injured beyond the repair of their primitive medicine. No tear of flesh can be seen on the thick hairy skin. The Son's offense against his prostrate enemies commences. Agility is his weapon. The dull blade is heavy yet the people of Kakariko are accustomed to such a weapon. Before one of the pig-men can rise three are dead already. The remaining six, though unfamiliar with the concepts of internal bleeding, bone damage, or hemorrhaging, are very quickly becoming familiar with their effects. The fourth dies getting to his feet and the remaining five limp piteously out of the Son's arm reach. The Son is unmarked. He appears as though his merciless beating never even occurred. The Son has the speed of a rabid bull. The dull gray steel strikes the ground with enough force to rend asunder a rock. All of the five pig-men are felled.

A spear red with blood stands tall in the ground it has pierced. From the eyes of the Son it comes from nothingness as it protrudes from his impaled torso. The pig-men's leader sits tall on a boar grunting what little propensity his kind have for laughter.

Movement from the Son. It is not feeble or weak. The movement is deliberate, undaunted. A crack like a whip on flesh breaks the air around in two. The broken handle of the spear falls from the Son's grasp and clatters on the stone ground.

The bore charges at the behest of its rider. The Son loses his wind as he is struck in the torso by an axe larger and heavier than a man. A shield, much more aesthetically tasteful than its counterpart sword crashes loudly on the ground under the weight of its owner.

Grey lightening strikes. Rough steel on poorly crafted pig-man armor. The haunches of a great boar fleeing with an injured rider. The Son stands. There is no sign of the slightest harm. Not so much as a fray is visible in the green tunic. At his feet there is grey steel. His hand still firmly grasps the ancient sword hilt of the Kakariko people's sword. At his feet lies the broken blade. Somewhere nearby the song of a forest that is long since dead is carried to him on the wind.


End file.
